Child of the Hunger Games
by Allegra Alecton
Summary: First fanfic!  My own characters, but based on the Games.  Follow Distric 4 tributes Calla and Brewer as they fight for not only their lives, but their unborn child's, in the 64th Hunger Games. CHAPTER ONE.
1. Chapter 1

Gathering my golden waves together, I pulled my hair into a bun atop my head. A simple white dress lay at my feet and I pulled it over my body. Grabbing pen and paper, I rush into the kitchen quickly, leaving my mother a note to let her know I'm leaving in the early hours of the morning. At the front door, I juggle to put slip my shoes on because I'm in sucha rush. I pull open the door and dart out, only to smack into an obsticle in my way. "You're late," the obsticle spoke, gently pulling me back up as caught my balance. I smile, and a small sigh escapes my lips, the voice soothing me. "I woke up late, I told you I'd meet you," I replied. Blue eyes only blinked back in respone, and fingers twined between mine. The obsticle, my love interest, led me away.

Hand in hand, we ran onto the shore. Half of the edge of our district was surronded by the sea. Our industry was based mainly of fishing and the products from the waters, but there was also trade to help promote our economy. We were.. the average, middle men of the districts, you could say. As the number of the districts, one through twelve, grew higher, the lower their success was. And then there was the Capitol, that controlled all of Panem. The Capitol was the most prosperous, and twelve was the least. Or, that was just what I had been told. The distrcits weren't extremely secretive, not as much as the Capitol, but not much care was given about othe districts beside the one you reside in.

My train of thought was interrupted by the sensation of fingers tickling my side. I couldn't help but burst into giggles, trying to push my attacker away. And when I pushed, I was only pulled closer. "Calla," he spoke my name, resting his hand on my cheek. Our eyes met for a few seconds, but I dropped my gaze and hid my smile. Pink rushed into my cheeks. The hand on my cheek was soon on my chin, and my head was tilted back upwards. Lips met mine, and I closed my eyes briefly, taking the moment in. Then, another hand settled on my stomach. "Brewer," I fussed. He only smiled, then walked away to grab his fishing pole. I placed my hand where his once was, and sighed. My focus was interrupted by a movement out of the corner of my eye. I squinted as I bent down to process the image. Peering closely, it became clear. It was a nest of turtle hatchlings! I grinned and called Brewer's name, but he was already a good distance away, line cast in the big blue. I shrugged to myself and returned to my squatting position. Shells cracked, bodies emerge, then dissapeared into the waters. I smiled at the new lives, silently wishing tm the best. Another figure emerged in the distance, but it was human. I the person greet my love, and stood up, waiting as they began walking my direction. Minutes later, I was sucked into listening to a boring conversation about fishing spots. The man immersed in conversation was five years my senior, Flint Ivy. He was named after the color of his eyes- stone, cold grey. He often times appeared intimidating because of this, but he infact was very kind and creative. Especially for a peacekeeper. I watched as the men compared their lures, pulling fish out of their baskets for each others inspection. I ran my fingers through the sand, the warmth from it and the sun relaxing me.

I began pulling my fingers through the grains all around me as the talking drug on. I searched for shells, or anything interesting. In the remaining five minutes of their talk, which seemed like five hours, I had foraged a handful of shells. I held enough to run a string through, to make a necklace or bracelet- jewelry to sell at the market. A lot of people wore my shells; they were a symbol of our district. When I begin running my thumb over their textures, I notice my surrondings get significantly darker. I raised up from the sandy floor, little bits beginning to whirl across the ground. Flint and Brewer stood next to me, our heads turned to the sky. A large, large hovercraft flew overhead. And within minutes, it was off in the distance. The sand now lay still. The sun continued to shine. And we were quiet. "I forgot what tomorrow was," Flint spoke, breaking the silence, "Time went by fast." Brewer and I cast each other a glance, and our peer just snorted at us. With continuing quietness, no words said, we all pickedup our things to return to town. My hand grasped the blue eyed boy's, and I know at that moment we both shared the same thought. A wish. The wish that tomorrow, we'd be safe.

The first thing I saw when I walked through the door was a boquet of flowers I was named after. Calla lillies. As I walked towards the kitchen, I jumped, startled by the image of my mom leaning against the wall. Her arms were crossed, but there was a smirk on her face. She was clearly satisfied she had scared me. "I left a note," I told her, looking back at the flowers. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the topic, and followed my gaze. "It's your last year, Calla. Your name may be in there eighteen times, but it's along with the other thousands. You'll be safe again." I took my mother's words in. The Reaping was tomorrow, in every district. One boy and one girl's name would be chosen out of a giant fishbowl, and they will be tributes of their district, to what Panem called The Hunger Games. The age started at twelve and ended at eighteen, your named entered however many times your age. It was cruel. Unusual. Twenty four young lives fought to the death where only one would come out alive. And this was all because our thirteenth district tried to rebel. They were destroyed, and now The Hunger Games exhist to prove the Capitol still remains in power. Brewer wouldn't be chosen- last year was his last. My mom was right about the odds of my name being chosen, but I was worried more than ever.

My father was the winner of the fourty-ninth Hunger Games. These will be the sixty-fourth. I, of course, wasn't born when we won, but he was killed when I was seven. He supposedly had select intel of District 13, but was murdered in effort to keep the talk quiet. He couldn't have possibly caused another rebellion, but he was a threat because of the knowledge he knew. He was smart. Very smart. And my mother told me that helped him win. He named me after my mother's favorite flower. He sent them to her when he returned home, professing his love for her. When they turned twenty-one, they got married, following the rules, and a few years later had me. I am the spitting image of him. Blonde, tall, with blue eyes. My mother is short, with black hair and brown eyes, but my face shares a few of her features. I lay in my bed, staring at the dark ceiling above, thinking this through. I tossed and turned, huffing and puffing. When I lie on my back again, I shut my eyes. Folding my arms across my stomach tenderly, I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I slipped the white dress on again. It was comfortable, but formal enough for the Reaping. Pulling the rubberband out of my bun, my locks fell to my shoulders. I walked into the kitchen, managing to return my mother's smile. "Beautiful, as always, Calla," she murmured between sips of coffee. Our door opened, and in came two family members- my mother's sister, and my cousin. They all looked alike, and I was often times asked if I was adopted when I was out with the three of them. But my cousin, Beck, also shared my blue eyes. I thought our relationsip was odd; We'd only see each other on family occasions, not often, but talked as if we were old friends when we did. But I guess that's just how family is. We stood up, watching our mother's hug, then left the house to walk to the Reaping. Brewer waited outside, dressed in khaki's and a white polo. Cute. I grabbed his hand, searching his eyes. They were unreadable, clouded with many emotions. We smiled, then stepped on.


	2. Chapter 2

Gathering my golden waves together, I pulled my hair into a bun atop my head. A simple white dress lay at my feet and I pulled it over my body. Grabbing pen and paper, I rush into the kitchen quickly, leaving my mother a note to let her know I'm leaving in the early hours of the morning. At the front door, I juggle to put slip my shoes on because I'm in sucha rush. I pull open the door and dart out, only to smack into an obsticle in my way. "You're late," the obsticle spoke, gently pulling me back up as caught my balance. I smile, and a small sigh escapes my lips, the voice soothing me. "I woke up late, I told you I'd meet you," I replied. Blue eyes only blinked back in respone, and fingers twined between mine. The obsticle, my love interest, led me away.

Hand in hand, we ran onto the shore. Half of the edge of our district was surronded by the sea. Our industry was based mainly of fishing and the products from the waters, but there was also trade to help promote our economy. We were.. the average, middle men of the districts, you could say. As the number of the districts, one through twelve, grew higher, the lower their success was. And then there was the Capitol, that controlled all of Panem. The Capitol was the most prosperous, and twelve was the least. Or, that was just what I had been told. The distrcits weren't extremely secretive, not as much as the Capitol, but not much care was given about othe districts beside the one you reside in.

My train of thought was interrupted by the sensation of fingers tickling my side. I couldn't help but burst into giggles, trying to push my attacker away. And when I pushed, I was only pulled closer. "Calla," he spoke my name, resting his hand on my cheek. Our eyes met for a few seconds, but I dropped my gaze and hid my smile. Pink rushed into my cheeks. The hand on my cheek was soon on my chin, and my head was tilted back upwards. Lips met mine, and I closed my eyes briefly, taking the moment in. Then, another hand settled on my stomach. "Brewer," I fussed. He only smiled, then walked away to grab his fishing pole. I placed my hand where his once was, and sighed. My focus was interrupted by a movement out of the corner of my eye. I squinted as I bent down to process the image. Peering closely, it became clear. It was a nest of turtle hatchlings! I grinned and called Brewer's name, but he was already a good distance away, line cast in the big blue. I shrugged to myself and returned to my squatting position. Shells cracked, bodies emerge, then dissapeared into the waters. I smiled at the new lives, silently wishing tm the best. Another figure emerged in the distance, but it was human. I the person greet my love, and stood up, waiting as they began walking my direction. Minutes later, I was sucked into listening to a boring conversation about fishing spots. The man immersed in conversation was five years my senior, Flint Ivy. He was named after the color of his eyes- stone, cold grey. He often times appeared intimidating because of this, but he infact was very kind and creative. Especially for a peacekeeper. I watched as the men compared their lures, pulling fish out of their baskets for each others inspection. I ran my fingers through the sand, the warmth from it and the sun relaxing me.

I began pulling my fingers through the grains all around me as the talking drug on. I searched for shells, or anything interesting. In the remaining five minutes of their talk, which seemed like five hours, I had foraged a handful of shells. I held enough to run a string through, to make a necklace or bracelet- jewelry to sell at the market. A lot of people wore my shells; they were a symbol of our district. When I begin running my thumb over their textures, I notice my surrondings get significantly darker. I raised up from the sandy floor, little bits beginning to whirl across the ground. Flint and Brewer stood next to me, our heads turned to the sky. A large, large hovercraft flew overhead. And within minutes, it was off in the distance. The sand now lay still. The sun continued to shine. And we were quiet. "I forgot what tomorrow was," Flint spoke, breaking the silence, "Time went by fast." Brewer and I cast each other a glance, and our peer just snorted at us. With continuing quietness, no words said, we all pickedup our things to return to town. My hand grasped the blue eyed boy's, and I know at that moment we both shared the same thought. A wish. The wish that tomorrow, we'd be safe.

The first thing I saw when I walked through the door was a boquet of flowers I was named after. Calla lillies. As I walked towards the kitchen, I jumped, startled by the image of my mom leaning against the wall. Her arms were crossed, but there was a smirk on her face. She was clearly satisfied she had scared me. "I left a note," I told her, looking back at the flowers. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the topic, and followed my gaze. "It's your last year, Calla. Your name may be in there eighteen times, but it's along with the other thousands. You'll be safe again." I took my mother's words in. The Reaping was tomorrow, in every district. One boy and one girl's name would be chosen out of a giant fishbowl, and they will be tributes of their district, to what Panem called The Hunger Games. The age started at twelve and ended at eighteen, your named entered however many times your age. It was cruel. Unusual. Twenty four young lives fought to the death where only one would come out alive. And this was all because our thirteenth district tried to rebel. They were destroyed, and now The Hunger Games exhist to prove the Capitol still remains in power. Brewer wouldn't be chosen- last year was his last. My mom was right about the odds of my name being chosen, but I was worried more than ever.

My father was the winner of the fourty-ninth Hunger Games. These will be the sixty-fourth. I, of course, wasn't born when we won, but he was killed when I was seven. He supposedly had select intel of District 13, but was murdered in effort to keep the talk quiet. He couldn't have possibly caused another rebellion, but he was a threat because of the knowledge he knew. He was smart. Very smart. And my mother told me that helped him win. He named me after my mother's favorite flower. He sent them to her when he returned home, professing his love for her. When they turned twenty-one, they got married, following the rules, and a few years later had me. I am the spitting image of him. Blonde, tall, with blue eyes. My mother is short, with black hair and brown eyes, but my face shares a few of her features. I lay in my bed, staring at the dark ceiling above, thinking this through. I tossed and turned, huffing and puffing. When I lie on my back again, I shut my eyes. Folding my arms across my stomach tenderly, I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I slipped the white dress on again. It was comfortable, but formal enough for the Reaping. Pulling the rubberband out of my bun, my locks fell to my shoulders. I walked into the kitchen, managing to return my mother's smile. "Beautiful, as always, Calla," she murmured between sips of coffee. Our door opened, and in came two family members- my mother's sister, and my cousin. They all looked alike, and I was often times asked if I was adopted when I was out with the three of them. But my cousin, Beck, also shared my blue eyes. I thought our relationsip was odd; We'd only see each other on family occasions, not often, but talked as if we were old friends when we did. But I guess that's just how family is. We stood up, watching our mother's hug, then left the house to walk to the Reaping. Brewer waited outside, dressed in khaki's and a white polo. Cute. I grabbed his hand, searching his eyes. They were unreadable, clouded with many emotions. We smiled, then stepped on.


End file.
